Getting old
by Anrheithwyr
Summary: Hannah is no longer the happy teenager she once was, but how can her husband, Neville, help make Hannah feel better?


"_They tell us from the time we're young  
to hide the things that we don't like about ourselves  
inside ourselves  
I know I'm not the only one who spent so long attempting to be someone else  
well I'm over it."-Mary Lambert, "Secrets"_

…

Adolescence was certainly long gone for Hannah Abbott, who could barely remember a time in the past decade that someone had even _called _her Hannah Abbott. At thirty-four, she was certainly far off from being the vibrant, happy-go-lucky teenager from Hogwarts.

Hair a little greyer, cheeks a little less pink, Hannah did not seem to live with the same sort of optimism as the fourteen year old who had believed that nothing bad could possibly ever happen to anyone she knew, because _bad things just don't happen_.

Her husband, Neville, claimed Hannah was simply just being insecure, paranoid even, but she knew that her fears about growing older were coming true; her once blonde hair was turning a more greying brown, she was struggling to lose weight, and it just seemed to be a little more _difficult _to move around than it had been even five years ago.

Neville, who himself was no young man anymore, would do his best to reassure Hannah that nothing was wrong, that she was only gaining weight because they had a baby on the way, and _besides_, everyone knew that stressing out about getting older only made you age faster; but all Hannah could see was that she was no longer fourteen, no longer the happy girl.

The Healers at St. Mungo's were saying she was simply just depressed, because of the baby, and that after their daughter was born, she'd return back to normal, but Hannah knew all of this. She herself had been a Healer once, and was training to be one again.

She _knew _what depression felt like, and she knew that it was absolute shit and there was no amounting of comforting words that could be lobbied her way that would make anything feel better inside; baby or not, Hannah couldn't get herself unstuck from the feeling that _oh, Merlin, I'm thirty-four, what have I done with my life?_

Her aunt Sherry always laughed whenever Hannah brought up her sudden feelings of hopelessness and despair, explaining it away with a wave of her hand as something called a mid-life crisis, saying it was the sort of thing that stuck around for a while, but would leave eventually.

Aunt Sherry insisted on inviting Hannah over to family dinners as much as possible, trying to force herself into a position of motherly helper, a role she had been trying, and failing, to play ever since Hannah's mum had died nearly eighteen years ago.

Supper was usually awkward, perched on the edge of her seat while Aunt Sherry prattled on about all their neighbours and encouraged Hannah to sell the Leaky Cauldron for a tidy profit, rather than allow it to be filled up with ruffians and drunkards, which she claimed was no place to be raising children, nor for delicate young women.

"But I'm _not _a young woman anymore, Aunt Sherry," Hannah replied every time Aunt Sherry said something along these lines. "I've been telling you, I'm thirty-four now, I feel like I'm falling apart, and it's just…are you _supposed_ to feel like nothing good in life is ever going to happen again, because that's how I feel right now. Does anyone else feel that way? If so, I'd like some help coping with this before I go bloody mad."

"Everyone goes through it, dear, some earlier than others. It's a part of growing up, trust me. Just be grateful that all _you _ended up with is some idea that you can't control your life. At least you're not wandering down the streets of London, spreading your legs for every blasted _slut_ you meet," Aunt Sherry said, giving her husband a sharp look.

Uncle Malcolm, staring down at his food in embarrassment, offered no words of advice to his now bewildered niece, but after dinner, Hannah _did _catch Uncle Malcolm whispering something about a "_date night_" in Neville's ear.

Hannah didn't find out what "date night" meant for another three weeks, until term had officially ended, and Neville finally got settled back into the flat located over the Leaky.

One particular Saturday, he kept insisting that she stay inside, keeping her from coming out onto the veranda, and he had even gone to great lengths to cover up the glass windows with cloths so that she couldn't spy on him.

"Go, _go_," Neville told her, shooing Hannah back downstairs to the main floor of the Leaky to tend to the patrons, or convincing Hannah that their four year old, Matilda, was calling out for her mummy. "I'm doing something special out here, Hannah, I'll come get you when it's time. Now, _go_, make yourself busy until I'm ready, okay?"

Hannah spent the next several hours wandering around the Leaky Cauldron, wondering if she would ever be able to see her feet again, because it seemed like the lower half of her body had been swallowed up by her belly, extending so far out that she almost suspected there were _twins _growing inside of her, rather than one apparently impatient, always moving, baby.

The help they had brought in over the past few years were a great help that day, though they served a constant reminder that there was just so much Hannah could no longer do or get away with, at thirty-four and pregnant.

Twenty-two year old Ivy Carter, with the blonde hair and the short skirts, who loved to collected more tips in one night than Hannah had ever managed; twenty-three year old Michael Hopkins, who flirted with every guest who stopped by and seemed more comfortable around people than Hannah could ever imagine being; twenty year old Adie Lauld, who hardly ever spoke, but was a great help at cooking and cleaning and made Hannah feel lazy and useless.

How was it that she had once been young and naïve like these three, who didn't seem to believe they would ever grow old or feel as let down as Hannah did? How was it that her husband had once been like one of these young people, but was now a father and a professor, and a possible contender for the post of Headmaster at Hogwarts?

(Didn't only old people become Headmaster? And if that made Neville old, then what was Hannah, who had a full five and a half months on him in age?)

And when Neville came to get her, finally, Hannah had managed to convince herself that he was planning something awful, because he didn't love her anymore, because he had found someone happier and friendlier than her and not quite as old as she was.

Neville wouldn't answer any of her questions as she slowly made her way after him, and Hannah's paranoia and insecurities grew with every step, convincing herself that their entire life was all about to collapse into nothing.

"Here we are, time for your special surprise," Neville said, opening the door to the veranda enough for her to waddle outside, gasping in surprise at what was set out before her.

On the veranda was their old kitchen table that had been sitting outside ever since one of the legs refused to stop wobbling no matter what they did to fix it; it had been sanded and repainted, the wobbly leg charmed to stick to the ground.

Flowers were sprouting everywhere, lovely, colourful flowers that smelled beautifully, vines curling around the two chairs set up, ready for her to enjoy a perfectly cooked meal of beef wellington, four-cheese macaroni, and salad.

And hanging over the table was a little wooden wind chime, brown in colour, and about the length of Hannah's upper arm, moving lightly in the breeze and letting out a tinkling noise every time so that it sounded like there were faeries dancing above them.

"I made it myself," Neville said of the wind chime proudly, and she moved closer to inspect it, amazed at her husband's handiwork. "Your uncle showed me how, but I did it all myself; painted everything and put it together. Do you like it?"

Hannah let her fingers run over the wind chime, feeling the wood, smiling at the tinkling sound that it made when she tapped it.

Neville just _knew _the sort of things that made her smile, and it was just so dumb and ridiculous that a little wooden wind chime was causing her to laugh and lift her spirits, but she couldn't help but tap it again, letting it chime musically.

Hannah started crying, big heaving sobs that wracked her body and might have been mixed with laughter, though she wasn't really sure. He had made a _wind chime_, all for her. He had made dinnerand planted flowers in pots everywhere, all to make her happy.

"Hannah? Are you okay, honey? I can…I can get rid of some the plants, if that's what you want…or the chime, I can get rid of the chime, I don't mind. Hannah, what's wrong, please tell me? Oh, Merlin, was it something I did?" Neville moved to comfort her, and now she _was _laughing and crying all at once.

"I'm a mess," she said, kissing him on the mouth. "I'm a total fucking mess, aren't I, Neville? A hormonal, old mess. Go on, say it, and say I'm a mess, Nev."

"Honestly, you _are _a mess, Hannah," Neville said and now he was laughing as well, guiding her to her seat, handing her a plate to dish out her meal. "But I think that might just be why I married you. You're a mess and I'm a mess, and we're both just plain _ridiculous_, aren't we?"

"Absolutely," she replied with a grin, taking a bite of the delicious food as the wind chime continued to make noise above them. "I love you, Neville Longbottom, even if we are a couple of messes."

"And I love you, too, Hannah," Neville said, leaning across the table to kiss her on the mouth, before stealing a bit of her meat, giving Hannah a bright smile when she smacked him lightly.

For that night, Hannah wasn't paranoid that she was too old, or insecure about how she looked or felt. For that night, she was a young woman again, madly in love with a ridiculous man named Neville. And Hannah was happy.


End file.
